WHAT kind of space race?
by infinitytwice
Summary: I just couldn't resist. Short oneshot based on Keith Olbermann. Oh, how I love that man. Anyway, RusAme if you squint, rated for America's language.


Alfred sat in his house, relaxing for the first time in a while. Between the oil spill in the Gulf, Arthur's constant bitching about how it wasn't his fault and how America's boss was skewing the facts, and losing in the World Cup, he hadn't gotten the chance to truly sit back and relax in a very long time.

He flipped through television channels absentmindedly, not really paying much attention to the shows. His phone rang, but he didn't bother to answer it, because he was in the middle of eating dinner and dammit he was going to enjoy having a moment to himself.

The face of one of his favorite news anchors halted his channel surfing. Alfred had always loved watching Countdown with Keith Olbermann, even if he didn't always agree with what he had to say.

"—Derrick Pitts, the chief astronomer at the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia who's probably regretting that choice right now, good evening Derrick."

America smiled. He hadn't watched this show in ages. It was really too bad he'd missed most of tonight's episode.

He wasn't really listening too closely while he ate his dinner. Several minutes passed with the TV turned down somewhat low, but just a few words made Alfred choke on his chicken sandwich and fumble for the remote, trying to simultaneously find the rewind button and turn the volume up.

Did Keith Olbermann really just—

What the hell was going on?

Alfred rewound it for a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth.

Again and again he listened to the phrase "Is there a space sex race, and did we lose it to the Russians?"

_What the fuck?_

America didn't bother to turn down the volume or pause the TV. He dove straight for the phone, fingers dialing out a familiar number.

It rang several times and he was about to hang up when he heard a _click_ and a familiar voice say "привет?"

"Dammit, Russia, what the fuck are your cosmonauts doing in space?"

"Ah, America," Ivan said sleepily. "Why are you calling so early?"

"It's only nine at night over here, but that's beside the point. Why the fuck did my newscaster just mention a space sex race with the Russians?"

There was silence on the other line.

Russia finally spoke up. "Alfred, I must say I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you feeling okay?"

America smacked the arm of his chair. "No I am NOT okay, I want to know what the hell these people are doing in space! I mean, why haven't I _heard_ about this? Or, I mean, is it even happening at all? And why the hell did Keith Olbermann just—"

"America. _Relax,_" Ivan said firmly. "I am sure that if something like that is in fact happening you would have been informed sooner or later. You can trust me when I say that I don't know anything about my cosmonauts doing anything like that. Go to sleep."

"Braginski, I've already told you, it's only nine here. What time is it there?"

"Five in the morning. I was asleep before you called."

Alfred instantly felt bad. "Oh. Sorry about that."

"нет, it's not a problem." The man's childish voice was still thick with sleep, creating a contradiction to his statement. "Is there anything else you would like to talk about?"

America felt a bit sheepish. "No, not really."

"Okay then. I'm going back to bed now, and please, don't call me again, да?"

"Yeah, sorry again. 'Night, Ivan."

"Goodnight Alfred."

He waited a few seconds but didn't hear the _click _of the line disconnecting, and was about to hang up when he heard a voice from his phone again. "Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"Say, don't you think it would be rather, ah, _entertaining_ to go into space and try that togeth—"

"_Not a chance._ Go to sleep."

* * *

**A/N: **I SRSLY LOVE KEITH OLBERMANN. HE IS FANTASTIC.

привет (privet) = hello  
нет (nyet) = no  
да (da) = yes  
I went overboard on the Russian, and I know it, but I just couldn't resist.

And yes, this was a real segment that came on tonight while I was eating dinner. It was rather hilarious. You can watch it here, minus the spaces: http: / / www. msnbc. msn. com / id / 3036677 / #38008691

Of course, the second he said the "space sex race" line I instantly had a vision of Alfred and Ivan arguing about it, from which this fic was born.

I'm not that much of a RusAme shipper (they're an okay couple, I just prefer USUK and RoChu) so this isn't necessarily a pairing. However, it IS there if you squint, aside from Ivan's last line. Take it as you will.

I always forget to say that I don't own Hetalia and never will, because Hidekaz Himaruya beat me to it. Oh well. At least I remembered this time.


End file.
